


A Domestic Scene

by celluloidbroomcloset



Category: The Avengers (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 14:50:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celluloidbroomcloset/pseuds/celluloidbroomcloset
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of The Wringer, Cathy finally lets Steed do something for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Domestic Scene

“I’m all right, I said.” Cathy spoke through clenched teeth.

She had, in point of fact, said it several times, but it did not appear to affect Steed’s intentions in the slightest. He stood poised at the front door, hands on his hips and dark head tilted to one side. He would have looked comical if she wasn’t quite so annoyed with him.

“I don’t give a damn what you did say!” Steed burst out, his chest heaving with the word damn. “When was the last time you bathed?”

“You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?”

“I could probably tell you from here.”

Cathy snorted at him and turned away. What right did he have, what possible right…

“Cathy, for God’s sake.” His tone was much quieter now. “Let me help you.”

“It’s the least you can do?”

“For a woman who was shot protecting me? Yes. But that’s not why I’m doing it.” He came up behind her. “You do need help, don’t you?”

Cathy could feel all the stubborn energy seeping out of her. She was tired of being quite so brave. He was right – she couldn’t bathe herself properly, not with her arm as it was. It hurt too much, it was too easy to get the bandages wet, she hadn’t washed her hair in however many days…

“You’re not allowed to make fun of me,” she growled at him.

Steed raised both palms. “As if I would.”

It was true that they had never quite worked out the proper level of intimacy in their relationship. Perhaps it was the inevitable result of being two independent people who tended to step – or stomp – on each other’s toes; perhaps it was less generalized than that. But though Cathy had been naked in front of him many times already, there was still something painfully vulnerable about undressing to get into the bath. She got out of her shirt without too much difficulty, but the removal of her bra finally outfoxed her. Steed stepped right up and undid the clasp.

“Not enough experience one-handed, eh?”

Cathy glared at him. “It’s not funny.”

“I’m sorry.” He sounded like he meant it.

He helped her into the big tub. The water was quite hot and soothing to the muscles. Cathy wiggled her toes, tension flowing out. Then she opened her eyes and saw Steed looking at her with a somewhat quizzical expression on his face.

“What?”

“I was thinking about how to go about helping you…uh…”

She sighed. “It would probably be easiest if you got in with me.” She pretended not to see his grin.

Cathy had an ulterior motive to that invitation, even if she suspected Steed did as well. It had been, by her count, almost a month since their last…encounter and while she did not feel up to more strenuous activities, she had missed his touch. When he slid carefully into the tub, both legs jutting out on either side of her, she remembered why. Steed was very comforting when he chose to be, like being snuggled by a big dog. He put his arms around her very gently and kissed her cheek. Then he picked up the soap.

After the initial embarrassment of her situation, Cathy gave herself over to his ministrations. He was surprisingly good at bathing another person – a talent whose source she decided she did not want to delve into too deeply. He confidently lathered her back, her arms – avoiding getting even the tiniest water droplet or spot of soap on her elevated left arm – her chest and legs, ending by scrubbing her hair so vigorously she finally had to sputter at him to stop. He proceeded more delicately after that, running his fingers from scalp to the ends of her hair, massaging the soap in until she believed she could have started purring. As soon as he had finished, she leaned back against his comfortable chest. The water rose up around her soapy, blessedly clean skin. He massaged her arms, her back, the knots that had formed around her shoulders and in her lats. Then he stopped and just held her, his big hands touching her waist. She sighed, grateful again for the contact, the closeness.

After some time, Steed cleared his throat.

“Um, Cathy?”

“Mmm?”

“Would you…not do that?”

Cathy opened her eyes. “Do what?”

“Your hand is on my thigh.”

She realized she had been idly rubbing his thigh for several minutes. She also finally recognized the reason for his protest.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s not that I’d mind were we both in tip-top shape, but I assume…that is to say, you are a bit…tired.”

He cleared his throat. Cathy tried to stifle a laugh, but it was no use. Steed sighed.

“Go on. Mock the afflicted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Steed. Why don’t you help me out of the tub?”

“Give me a minute, m’dear.”

He helped her towel off and rebandaged her arm. The wound still throbbed something awful and Cathy had never been one for painkillers. She did accept the offer of a good hot toddy, however, which Steed brought to her after he had her safely ensconced in his pajamas, on his sofa. One, she admitted, of her favorite places to be.

“I have to fill out some paperwork after our little Scottish adventure,” said Steed breezily, moving about his flat in his billowing dressing gown. He had not bothered to put a shirt on again, but then Cathy never did mind. “You’ll stay for dinner and…the night, if you like.”

She smiled and touched her lips to the steaming mug. “I like. Thank you, Steed.”

“Not at all, Cathy.” He sat down at his desk and got to work. Cathy leaned back on the sofa and propped her book on her knee. An outside observer would have called it a very domestic scene. And, if she was honest, they would have been right.


End file.
